more new poem drafts from 1st loss book
we attach easily,
we who suffer loss/lose
[sex after funerals, rebounding,
post-traumatic stress from disruptive attachment and detachment,
disorder]
we all like to think we are seeing it and calling it as it is,
each person deserves respect and is beautiful
but what do I know?
a lot of pain and how to inflict it,
ways to suffer so that suffering can't mend,
but we all know these things
before zaniness ensued,
I thought I would walk away to some beach, watch the sky.
I learned the value of holding and being held by
a person I love,
a person who loves me,
a person who loves everybody,
anybody gentle and kind, tender and considerate,
I had expected to have that choice, but i don't.
I can make do with pillows and memories.
*
Is the end of every day like the end of all one's days?
Is sunrise hope or at least persistence?
I won't persist as longs as I thought,
just as long as I am able,
given my circumstances.
Maybe. I moved from yet another slammingly beautiful day to weather.
And back. And forth.
Sun and stars move, shine, but that's physics, mythology: perception.
The surf inherently, without cease,
breaks shell, coral, rock, into sand.
*
We lose everything we ever thought we knew, loved,
as well as all those items,
even stars and strewn shells, shells which are things lost.
Let's get together on this. We love and fail.
Gather pleasure?
Gone, slipped out to buy a newspaper.
We write, smear our hands with awe and more ink and graphite
than pages are inscribed by us -- words, symbols, figures, lines and shading.
We enact ephemeral
and intransigent.
*
Can I help this habit of thinking, homing?
so I try to love again, again, constantly,
despite experience of durable love's death,
rebirth reconfigured.
Love doesn't die as I will, it flickers and burns
as I do.
"I will" but what does it matter. "I do" and just can't help it.
Hope, pray, act -- what is poetry but prayer, what is love or poetry but proof?
Centering even an emotional hurricane, peace.
Peace, hard work, proves use.
Open all the windows, turn on all the lights.
Shutter and protect, prepare.
*
Show up. Act like you mean it.
There are too many beings.
There are too few.
Everything (automatically) concludes.
Yet...
*
Please hold me. Thanks. I'm having a hot flash.
Cuddling is great but I need to sleep so that I can drive/take this meeting tomorrow.
When can I share an evening with you again?
Do you respect me? Yeah,
tears are not like rain.
I like your smell and taste
(in my body, my mouth). << OK THIS IS A DRAFT!!!!
My lost love taught me that.
we who suffer loss/lose
[sex after funerals, rebounding,
post-traumatic stress from disruptive attachment and detachment,
disorder]
we all like to think we are seeing it and calling it as it is,
each person deserves respect and is beautiful
but what do I know?
a lot of pain and how to inflict it,
ways to suffer so that suffering can't mend,
but we all know these things
before zaniness ensued,
I thought I would walk away to some beach, watch the sky.
I learned the value of holding and being held by
a person I love,
a person who loves me,
a person who loves everybody,
anybody gentle and kind, tender and considerate,
I had expected to have that choice, but i don't.
I can make do with pillows and memories.
*
Is the end of every day like the end of all one's days?
Is sunrise hope or at least persistence?
I won't persist as longs as I thought,
just as long as I am able,
given my circumstances.
Maybe. I moved from yet another slammingly beautiful day to weather.
And back. And forth.
Sun and stars move, shine, but that's physics, mythology: perception.
The surf inherently, without cease,
breaks shell, coral, rock, into sand.
*
We lose everything we ever thought we knew, loved,
as well as all those items,
even stars and strewn shells, shells which are things lost.
Let's get together on this. We love and fail.
Gather pleasure?
Gone, slipped out to buy a newspaper.
We write, smear our hands with awe and more ink and graphite
than pages are inscribed by us -- words, symbols, figures, lines and shading.
We enact ephemeral
and intransigent.
*
Can I help this habit of thinking, homing?
so I try to love again, again, constantly,
despite experience of durable love's death,
rebirth reconfigured.
Love doesn't die as I will, it flickers and burns
as I do.
"I will" but what does it matter. "I do" and just can't help it.
Hope, pray, act -- what is poetry but prayer, what is love or poetry but proof?
Centering even an emotional hurricane, peace.
Peace, hard work, proves use.
Open all the windows, turn on all the lights.
Shutter and protect, prepare.
*
Show up. Act like you mean it.
There are too many beings.
There are too few.
Everything (automatically) concludes.
Yet...
*
Please hold me. Thanks. I'm having a hot flash.
Cuddling is great but I need to sleep so that I can drive/take this meeting tomorrow.
When can I share an evening with you again?
Do you respect me? Yeah,
tears are not like rain.
I like your smell and taste
(in my body, my mouth). << OK THIS IS A DRAFT!!!!
My lost love taught me that.
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